You Can't Save Me
by pdljmpr6
Summary: The story behind Ronon's favorite knife, and the one person he couldn't save. Slight R/K
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm back at it. This fic is written, but it's not done...if that makes sense. So updates should be regular, but not necessarily quick. Hm. Still not sure I'm making sense. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chap, and since I'm kind of vague on the details, what's good, what's not, if you'd be so obliged as to leave me a review, that's would be awesomundo!

**Chapter One – First Meetings Again**

_He'd known different people from different places had different ways of speaking, even before he'd met Rodney McKay and Carson Beckett. He knew, because she talked differently, as did all the people of Fresia. If he'd had to describe it, he'd have said it was most like Captain Daniella Robinson who was from someplace called Louisiana, but even that was just 'close' and not quite it. _

_He can still remember the first time he heard it…again. They had been on a planet, M42-something, following up on some rumors with an informant. Supposedly there was word of some ZPMs that weren't being used floating around, but their informant had been less than helpful…_

Ronon pursed his lips as John tried, again, to charm the short, stocky but well-built man into giving them the information they wanted. Rodney had already tried insulting him and Teyla had tried reasoning with him. So far, the man was just not in a giving mood. All he wanted were things to trade, but Sheppard insisted they had no reason to give him anything until they knew he had something of value to tell them in return.

Patience was really not one of Ronon's strong points.

Pulling one of his knifes from his sleeve, he pushed past Rodney and slung a long arm around the informant's shoulders, ignoring the warning look John sent him as he did so. Then, curling it around in front of the man's face, he casually began running the sharp blade under his fingernails as he took great care to whisper menacingly in the man's ear.

"Tell us what we want to know Gijara, and I promise, you might make it out of here with all your fingers in tact."

The man licked his lips nervously and out of the corner of his eye Ronon could see John frown. He didn't like Ronon's tactics, but he hadn't said anything to stop him yet.

He'd been about to prompt the greedy trader once more, a bit more forcefully, when he heard a female voice behind him.

"Why don't you pick awn somebody yur own size?"

Ronon turned around, extracting his arm from around the informant. He leaned back against the bar casually, resting his hand on the hilt of his blaster. "And that would be who? You?"

The woman put her hands on her hips, pushing aside her waist length leather jacket. She smiled like she knew his secrets, "We could take this outsayd and find out."

"Somebody needs to teach you how to pick your fights better," He stood at least a head and shoulders taller than her, but she didn't seem to notice. He felt the others tense beside him but was relieved when they stayed silent.

She didn't even flinch, blue eyes sparkling as she said, "Oh believe me, I pick me fights jus' fine."

"Then lets go." He raised his eyebrows, the challenge almost sounding like an invitation.

She looked over his shoulder and caught sight of John, Teyla and Rodney, all gripping their p90s uneasily. She raised an eyebrow at them and ran a hand nonchalantly through her blood-red hair, "I don't know, I feel a lil out-numbud."

Ronon barley glanced at them, "It'll be a fair fight."

"Oh I highly doubt that." She smiled mystically again and turned toward the doors, picking up a sword from a nearby table as she passed by. It was more than the length of her arm and she held it effortlessly as she walked out of the small pub that Rodney said reminded him of _Gunsmoke_, whatever that meant.

Ronon pulled his sword from the leather holder across his back.

"Hey, buddy, hold on a second," John called.

Ronon ignored him and stepped out the door. A glint of silver lit up in the corner of his eye and he ducked just in time to avoid getting decapitated. He lifted his sword as another attack was made on his left side, and he backed up as his female opponent advanced toward him, down the stairs and out into the dirt street.

John, Rodney and Teyla ran outside, though they were sure their assistance would not be wanted and probably not needed either, but that didn't make it any easier to watch as he engaged in what looked like a very real, very dangerous swordfight.

The pair were obviously unevenly matched. Ronon was much taller and had at least fifty pounds on his opponent, and John knew from experience by the placement of his footing that Ronon was holding nothing back from each blow he threw. The other fighter stood at least a foot shorter, lithe and quick. At some point she'd shed the leather jacket and underneath she wore a loose too-big tunic that went down to her thigh and was held on by a black belt.

John bit his lip. "I'm really going to have to get a leash for that guy." He muttered.

"I doubt it would help," Rodney said, not missing a beat, "and he'd probably like it."

This made John smirk, but only for a moment, as he watched the fight carefully for any sign that he would need to step in.

The longer he watched, the more impressed John was, in spite of himself. Ronon's opponent fought with untrained movements, sometimes clumsy and certainly not elegant or smooth the way he knew Satedan soldiers were taught to fight, but it certainly seemed to get the job done. She used her small stature to gain tactical advantage, twisting and turning to both defend and counter in the same motion. Anticipating Ronon's moves with skill not borne of training, but of experience.

Inside the tavern someone toppled over a table full of clay and metal mugs, causing a spectacular crash to reverberate around the room and out into the street. For a split second Ronon was distracted. He didn't even look up, and barely hesitated the movement of his sword, and a lesser opponent would have missed it completely. Hell, John wasn't sure _he_ would have seen it, but the lithe fighter did and he watched with a small part approval and a large part concern as she quickly disarmed Ronon and with a well-placed kick, buckled his knees and sent him to the ground.

Anyone else would have been rendered defenseless.

Ronon quickly rolled away from her sword's downswing and when it hit the dirt where he had been, he was in a crouch behind her. Surprised, she turned to look at him, momentarily leaving her core unguarded. Ronon raised an eyebrow and a half smirk appeared on his lips as he reached for his sword and in the same motion brought it up in a direct line for her neck. In the time it had taken Ronon to reach for his sword, the woman had regained her composure and was making a swing for his lower left side, between the hip and bottom of the ribs. At the last second before they each landed strikes that would have been unquestionably fatal, they stopped. Ronon's light eyes met with the woman's blue ones for three full seconds before either moved and the team held their breath.

Then Ronon stepped back and dropped his sword down to his side, the woman did the same. John, Teyla and Rodney still held their weapons steady on the red-haired woman, all equally confused when Ronon and the woman broke into smiles at the exact same moment.

"What the hell?" John muttered, glancing between the two several times.

"I always knew he was a lunatic," was all Rodney could think to say. Teyla just kept her gun trained and steady, frowning, unsure of what to make of the exchange.

"Micah," Ronon said, stepping forward and grabbing the woman up into a hug, "how have you been?"

She stood back, sliding her sword into her sling with practiced ease, "How have I biyn? Well isn't that just a loaded question _Bat'hi_."

"Stop calling me that." He answered automatically, not really expecting her to heed him.

True to form, she ignored him completely and continued, "Why don't you go first? An' you can start with telling me who these luvly people who seem mo' than ready to put holes in me are."

Ronon smiled and shook his head, reaching out to ruffle her hair in such a brotherly manner that Rodney's mouth dropped, and turned to face them.

"John, Rodney, Teyla, this is Micah," He motioned to the three, who had yet to lower their weapons, not that either Ronon or Micah seemed disturbed by it, "Micah, this is my team."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Oh no they DIDN'T!!_ (**SPOILER **for those who haven't seen the most recent epi, aired 10/10/08) She picked Rodney?? Over Ronon?? Good GOD what is the galaxy coming to?! This is unexceptable. Ronon's hair. Strike one. Jennifer's stupidity. Strike two. You don't want me to get to three Sci Fi...

**Chapter Two – Seven Years Mostly Alone**

Once back inside Micah insisted on buying them Pinot Ale and the team gathered around a large, round table that seated all five of them while she went to the bar to order.

"So, you know her." Sheppard said, in more of a question than statement.

Ronon glanced over his shoulder at Micah, who was waiting by the bar for their drinks and had settled on a stool beside their uncooperative informant. He watched as she somewhat subtly, but very threateningly, drew back her leather jacket to reveal a large, deadly energy gun. Their backs were to them, but Ronon was sure she was 'talking' to the man. He was just glad he was not at the wrong end of that conversation, as the now slightly nervous looking informant seemed to be.

He turned back to look at his teammates, who were all eyeing him expectantly. He shrugged.

"I know her."

"What's wrong with 'hi there, long time no see'?" Rodney snapped, still a little shook up from the whole scene, "Why do you have to greet each other with what basically amounts to a fight to the death?"

Before he could respond Micah had returned to their table, precariously balancing five metal mugs of Ale. Ronon took one, left one for her and continued passing drinks around the table.

She settled into the chair beside Ronon, sliding her sword off her back and rolling her shoulders slightly. Teyla didn't miss the slight frown of discomfort that crossed her face, thinking the weapon probably weighed quite a bit, not that you could tell from the way the small woman handled it in a fight.

"Mista' helpful ova' thea said he'd heard stories of strange activity on that planet," she handed McKay a small napkin with a scribbled gate address, "says you might find what you lookin' for."

Rodney took the paper, eyeing it and it's giver warily, "did he tell you why we wanted it?"

She drank a mouthful of Ale and gave him a funny look, "I'm sure he would've. But I didn't ask."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink thoughtfully, and he barely kept himself from coughing it right back up. The rancid alcohol burning his throat all the way down worse than any scotch Carson gave him ever had. He noted with annoyance that Teyla, Ronon and their new 'friend' all drank the concoction effortlessly, but felt a little better when he heard Rodney cough and gag beside him. But only a little.

"So what have you been up to all this time?" Ronon's grip on his metal mug of Ale was lax, as though already feeling the alcohol's effect. But that didn't keep him from tensing everytime someone walked into the room, he never drank so much as to be rendered defenseless, Sheppard knew the Satedan's seemingly relaxed state was mostly a façade. As far as he knew, Ronon never completely relaxed. The man was cagey as hell.

"Oh you know, runnin' fightin' wraith." Micah shrugged. Sheppard narrowed his eyes a little as he studied her carefully. Speaking of cagey…Micah was the picture of faux casualness, leaning heavily on the table with her chin in her hand. But her eyes remaining sharp and often darted about the room cautiously.

"And doing a pretty good job at it from what I hear." Ronon commented, glancing at Sheppard sitting across from him. He knew the man was sizing Micah up and to some degree in the process, reevaluating his view of Ronon. Thankfully, the Colonel seemed to be at ease, if not a bit wary of Micah. But that was to be expected.

"You heard 'bout lil ol' me?" she pointed at herself with her best flattered face.

Ronon rolled his eyes.

"Don't let her fool you, she could kill everyone at this table with a flick of her knife if she wanted," he stated with something akin to pride.

"Comforting." Rodney grunted, glaring at his ale instead of drinking it.

Micah shrugged again, sipping her drink again, "I had a good teacha'."

"Yeah, sounds like you were listening."

"Every word you eva' said," she looked at Ronon knowingly, "And everything ya didn't, _Bat'hi_."

"You keep calling him that,_ Bat'hi_." Sheppard shifted his p90 on his lap when the barrel began digging into his thigh, "what is that, like a nickname?"

Micah opened her mouth but Teyla jumped in.

"It is a term of endearment, it means 'young one'," then, looking at the woman, "I apologize, but you are of Fresia, are you not?"

She dipped her chin with a smile and motioned with her mug, "correct."

"Wait a second, 'young one'?" Rodney said, squinting at her, "aren't' you like, several years younger than Ronon?"

"Three to be exact. I was sixteen when I met Ronon, he was just a little fella', barely broken his nineteenth yea'." She grinned playfully at him, pinching his cheek in an oddly

'grandmother' like manner and he pulled away, shaking his head.

"Don't you 'little fella' me. I outweigh you by a hundred pounds."

"Wait, I'm confused, if you're three years younger than him, why do you call him _Bat'hi_?" John asked, watching the whole interplay with confusion.

Micah started to talk but was stopped by a fit of coughing. She nodded at Teyla, who proceeded to explain and held a small piece of cloth over her face.

"On Fresia girls are married early so that they may begin bearing children and thus sustain the population despite cullings."

Ronon frowned and watched Micah carefully, her eyes watering with the effort to breathe through the spell.

"Boys are not married until they reach full maturity at twenty or twenty-one years," Teyla continued, "thus, even if a boy is older than a girl, if she is married, he is considered younger, more 'inexperienced' than she."

Micah nodded, slipping the cloth back into her pocket quickly, "When I met Ronon I was married with a two year old son. Gill."

"Was he…" Rodney trailed off, not quite wanting to finish his sentence with Ronon within striking distance.

"A runna'," she looked at Ronon, who was staring at the heavy wooden table. Her voice grew quieter, sadder, "he was. Had been for almost a yea'. He stumbled into me village from the gate, bleedin' and half scayed to death. I made him stay at me place, tended to his wounds and fed 'im."

"If I'd been aware enough I wouldn't have let you."

"Oh you fought me to be sure," she smiled, "but you were in no position to be awr'guin 'n I wasn't takin' no for a answa'." She looked at Sheppard, "the next day he woke up and practically broke me door down tryin' to get out. He was still hurt and couldn't really explain. I thought he was crazy." She glanced at Ronon again, this time he was watching her with that guarded, open stare of his.

"Some elda's from me village figured out what he was and told him to leave, thought they'd a' seen an ancestor the way their skin got so white," she shook her head, "well I just couldn't see him goin' through the gate again in the condition he was. Not alone." She shrugged, finishing her ale, "so I went with him."

"What about your husband and son?" Teyla asked. Micah didn't look up from her empty mug.

"They'd been killed in a wraith culling a few months before." Ronon answered.

"I had no reason to stay." Micah's eyes grew dark and sad and everyone at the table shifted uncomfortably, "Anyway, I ran with him for nea'ly eight months."

Ronon looked over, grinning like he knew an inside joke, "I just couldn't get rid of her."

Micah laughed, the hollow sound sending shivers down Teyla's spine, "not that you didn't try, somehow I always managed to sneak through the gate right behind you."

"What happened after eight months?" Rodney asked.

Both Micah and Ronon's expressions fell again and she hesitated before answering.

"I got sick. This wraith that had got to us on a planet whe'e it was almost pitch black fo' 36 of it's 38 hours a day," she coughed a couple times and winced slightly, pointedly ignoring Ronon's questioning look, "I got cut real bad in the leg n' it got infected. Got so bad I could ha'dly walk. I knew I'd just slow him down, git him killed. I made him go on without me."

John glanced between Micah and Ronon several times while the two shared a knowing look.

"You two didn't by any chance…" he trailed off. His meaning plainly heard.

Micah looked at him and a sly smile played on her lips, "only once." She said after a moment, "when Ronon got 'the feva'."

"The fever?" John repeated, his curiosity piqued when Teyla suddenly looked away, a visible pink tinge on her cheeks, "what is that?"

Micah gave him a funny look, "you must be from real fa' 'way if you don't know the feva'."

Teyla chose this moment to jump in, having recovered quickly from her embarrassment. She leaned in to speak a bit more quietly to John. "It is not uncommon for males to experience a heightened state of…arousal when they enter the final stage of maturity. It can go on for months and the need only gets more severe the longer it goes unsatisfied."

John raised his eyebrows and looked at Ronon, who was looking him squarely in the eye with a dangerous smirk on his face. John decided not to comment, merely nodding and mouthing 'ah'.

Micah started to laugh and began coughing again. She covered her mouth and when the fit was over she moved to retrieve her cloth to wipe her hands, but not before Ronon caught sight of the blood spatters on her palm.

"Micah!" he exclaimed.

"What? What is it?" John demanded, standing, hands already wrapping around his weapon.

Ronon didn't answer and, disregarding Micah's protests, he pulled her hand away from her side and lifted the bottom of her tunic to reveal dark purple bruising all along her right ribs.

He looked back up at her, fire in his green eyes, "you're bleeding inside, Micah." He looked a little bit hurt and a lot angry when he added, "you let me fight you like this?"

She shrugged away his hands, her face carefully closed off from him, "I'm fine, Dex."

"I do not believe that is true." Teyla said. She'd gotten a good look at the injury before Micah had pulled her tunic back down. She turned to John, "Colonel if we do not get her the infirmary soon I am quite sure she will be dead within the next few hours." She said quietly so as not to be overheard.

John pursed his lips, looking first at Teyla, then Micah, and finally Ronon. He knew the Satedan would never ask, not after the experiences they'd had with the other friends from his past that they had encountered, but he could see the concern in his friends eyes and the pain in Micah's. She tried to hide it, but it was there.

Finally, he nodded, "alright, lets get her to the gate. Ronon, you better help her."

"Whe' we goin'?" Micah didn't really have the energy to protest as much as she'd have liked and she began coughing again as soon as the words left her now reddened lips.

Ronon stood, helping her to her feet and following the others outside. His frown was deep and hard as they made the short trek to the gate at the edge of the village.

"To get you some help." He looked up past Rodney to John who was leading the pack up ahead and made a mental note to thank the man later. Ancestors help him, he didn't have to do this, he certainly hadn't had the best of luck with reunions before this.

"We should hurry." Teyla urged from behind them. Ronon took his queue and, without warning, swept his arm under Micah's legs, picking her up and carrying her so that he could quicken the pace. She complained weakly, but Ronon was beyond heeding it.

"Conserve your strength," he growled, "you're going to need it when I'm through with you."

Micah didn't respond, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Since I wrote this before the Lost Tribe aired, I will be continuing under the presumption that Ronon likes Keller and Keller likes Ronon. Besides, I'm not entirely sure a galaxy where R does not automatically / K is a galaxy I want to live in.

**Disclaimer**: No. Seriously. Don't got there.

**Chapter Three – Been Worse, Been Better**

Sheppard walked into the curtained off section of the infirmary where Micah had been for the past 36hours since her surgery. As he'd expected, Ronon was at her bedside, the man had been an almost permanent fixture there for the past day and a half.

"Hey, Ronon, thought I might find you here."

Ronon turned to look at John, keeping his voice low, "Sheppard," he said by way of greeting, "did you need me for something?"

Sheppard shrugged off the question, "nope, just came to check on our patient."

Ronon nodded, glancing back at Micah for a moment before turning back.

"I uh, wanted to, you know, uh" he shrugged slightly, uncomfortable with the prospect of diverging from their normally strictly 'sparring and wise-cracks' relationship for something more serious, "thank you, for uh…"

Sheppard inhaled slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets, just as uncomfortable as the Satedan.

"You don't, uh, have to..." he shook his head, cutting off Ronon's hesitant sentence. He glanced briefly at his friend, long enough to make eye contact and let a message past between them. They'd known eachother long enough, there really wasn't that much that needed to be said between them that actually needed to be _said_.

He smiled when Ronon's shoulders relaxed and he sat back, glad to be rid of his burden.

"Doc says she should be waking up soon." He said, returning to the actual reason he'd come by the infirmary.

Ronon turned back around in his chair and kept his gaze firmly on Micah's face, who lay completely still in the bed.

"She's been awake for the past half hour." He stated.

John looked at the woman once more. She looked very unconscious to him.

"You sure about that, buddy?" He asked, before realizing he probably should have known better.

"Her breathing changed."

They both watched the seemingly sleeping woman for several seconds more before she started to smile followed quickly by her opening her eyes.

"Jus' spoil me fun as always _Bat'hi_." Micah complained, turning her clear blue eyes on him.

Ronon just raised an eyebrow at her, his glare not faltering.

"So you _are _awake," John said, smiling, "how do you feel?"

"I've been worse," Micah said, making an indecisive noise. She glanced around, apparently seeing the infirmary for the first time, "whe'e are we?"

John hesitated only momentarily, "Atlantis."

She looked incredulous at first, "the city of the ancesta's…wow." She made an effort to look more carefully, "I didn't thank it really existed. I've hea'd stories since I was a child but this..." She stopped shaking her head in amazment.

John smiled and bounced slightly on his feet. He always liked when people were amazed by his city. After a few moments of silent admiration, Micah turned her gaze on Ronon, who had yet to move or speak. She stared at him for several seconds and John got that funny feeling that he'd had back on the planet, sort of like he was eavsdropping on a conversation that wasn't happening out loud.

"Why you lookin' at me that way?" She asked finally, her voice sharp. Her persona, which up till then John would have described as downright pleasent, suddenly darkened and his body tensed reflexively.

Ronon didn't flinch, "you should have said something. I could have killed you."

"But you didn't."

"You were two hours away from dying if we hadn't showed up and-" He continued, clearly upset. John looked at his friend, it was more than a little unusual for the Satedan to so openly express such an emotion as worry.

"Aright," she cut him off and started to sit up but the shooting pain that radiated from her injury made her drop back on the pillows with a gasp. Wanting to save face, she continued severely, "you _could_ have. But you _didn't_. I'm _sorry_ I didn't say anythang. I should have. Next time I will. _Okay_?" She paused a beat, to be sure he was hearing her and then stated with finality, "this discussion is _ova'_."

John felt the heat from their twin glares radiating off each of them. Ronon suddenly sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, effectivly admitting defeat in this particular showdown and John felt his respect and curiosity for this woman growing. Anyone who could stand toe to toe with Ronon Dex, and come out victorious no less, was a woman worth knowing. And having on _your _side if the time came to choose.

In an instant the tension that had invaded the small group was gone and Micah turned to look at John again. The sweet smile was back as if it had never left.

"I thank you for your medical assistance…Colonel, was it?"

"John," he nodded, "Don't mention it. That gate address you gave us from the informant checked out so, I guess it was the least we could do."

Micah smiled, "next time you need me to scay' the dung outta somebody, jus' ask."

John almost laughed, nodding as he turned to leave, "count on it. Get some rest, alright?"

"I mos' definitely will not," she called cheekily to his back, and then turned to Ronon, "truthfully, how long do they expect me to stay hea'?"

Ronon sighed, having expected this question from the start, "as long as you need to." Finding his answer unsatisfactory, Micah raised her eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes, "a few days at least."

"A few days?!" she sounded appalled, "A wraith will soona' cut off his own feedin' hand," She told him, flicking her long red bangs off her forehead with a huff.

Ronon smiled, he sometimes forgot how much he missed Pegasus natives. For once he didn't need a translator to figure out one's colloquial speech.

He stood slowly, "I'll go talk to the doc."

"Thank you _Bat'hi_," Micah said, sounding relieved.

"Stop calling me that." He threw over his shoulder, the way he had hundreds of times, knowing now, just as he had then, that she never would.

"Hey doc." Ronon stepped up beside Keller and she pulled her face away from a Microscope on the counter.

"What's up Ronon, I'm guessing our patient is finally awake?"

He nodded and she got up, reaching for her lab coat so she could go get an update on the mysterious alien woman.

He touched her arm and she stopped.

"Do me a favor?"

She looked at him suspiciously and asked with a smile, "What is it?"

"Dial back whatever you're giving her for the pain," he said calmly.

Her smile disappeared almost instantly, "are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Jennifer frowned, "she just had pretty major surgery Ronon, she needs the pain medication. All of it."

He shook his head, "you don't understand, as soon as she thinks she can handle the pain, she'll walk out of here, whether or not she's ready. If you want to keep her here long enough so she won't rip up whatever it is you did in that surgery you're going to have to cut it back."

Jennifer looked thoughtful and he felt somewhat guilty, knowing what he was asking her to do was against every 'doctor' bone in her body. But he also knew Micah. Her stubbornness rivaled his own and if she left before she was ready Jennifer would just end up worrying herself to death over her well-being. If she just did what he asked, they could all avoid the whole scene.

He took one step closer, crowding her personal space considerably and yet she didn't back down. He loved that.

"Please, Jen." He added softly, knowing it was somewhat manipulative of him to use her first name. She had never denied him anything when he did that.

She looked at him briefly and then diverted her gaze to the chart in her hands, her red cheeks and ears the only indication that she noticed his closeness at all.

"How high a pain tolerance?" She asked, mostly so he wouldn't think he was winning so easily.

Ronon thought for a moment, "once, we were on a dark planet with these tall hard plants with sharp spikes about this long," he held his fingers six inches apart, "with hook-like ends. She was running and fell onto one, it broke off in her calf. It was bleeding and we couldn't pull it out, so she used a knife to cut open her own leg and dug around until..."

"Okay, okay!" Jen made a face, not needing any more details. Surgery was kind of her specialty, so she didn't need him to tell her that self-surgery without anestectic was just...yeah. High pain tolerance might just be an understatment. "Fine." She muttered, turning to check on her patient, "but you owe me."

Ronon laughed. There were worse things in the galaxy than owing a pretty doctor a favor.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Glad I'm not alone in the 'need R/K' world of dispair. How about we stick it to the man and just keep writing R/K fics, sound good?

**Disclaimer**: Not. Mine.

**Chapter Four – Your Life Now**

Micah found the next few days excruciatingly boring, not used to spending so much time sitting still. She kept herself busy by observing Ronon and his team under the pretense of sleep or disinterest. That is when she wasn't blinded by white hot pain which seemed to accompany every movement, and she had a sneaking suspicion her dear _Bat'hi_ had something to do with that.

She wasn't so surprised with how often he seemed to be in the infirmary, he had a protective streak as wide as a double-sided Hive. But she was beginning to wonder if her presence was perhaps only an excuse for him to see that doctor, Keller, more often. Every time she peeked one of her eyes open when she felt his presence leave her little area of the room, she could just see him through the gap in the curtains as he went to talk to the doctor, always standing just a little closer than necessary.

And his team, the ones she met on the planet, kept coming to visit him. She didn't always understand what they were saying, knew the words but not the meaning, but they seemed to entertain Ronon. The Colonel and the annoying man especially amused him. The woman was quieter, Micah got the feeling she was something of a mediator between the other three, but she fit in well.

The easy camaraderie between the four of them caused old memories of herself and Ronon to surface, memories that hadn't seen the light of day in nearly ten years. The way the two used to laugh and joke, not often of course, but with the same tension-relieving objective. It made her remember all she'd given up for this life she now had, a Runner by choice, alone by choice. The feelings of self-doubt, questions of self-worth, that resulted were not very pleasant, so she pushed them from her mind.

She was getting stronger by the day, the pain easier to take with every breath, and she didn't think she would be able to endure staying much longer. She wanted to, for Ronon's sake, it was nice to have a friendly face to open her eyes to after so long, but she knew better. Knew it couldn't last.

SGASGASGASGA

Ronon went to the infirmary directly after breakfast on Micah's fourth day as a patient, just as he had done for the three days prior. He was surprised to enter her curtained off section of the infirmary and find it empty, the sheets washed and made, awaiting a new patient. For a split second his heart stopped and he turned on his heel, Jennifer's name on his lips even as he nearly ran into her when she appeared behind him.

She didn't wait for him to ask.

"She's not on any pain meds at all, anyone else would be writhing on the floor in agony," she said sounding concerned and somewhat resigned. She nodded in agreement at Ronon's knowing grunt. She'd spent nearly half an hour trying to reason with Micah, trying to get her to stay put and allow herself to heal fully, but it was useless. She had a feeling Ronon had been through much the same thing when Micah injured her leg all those years ago.

"Where is she?"

Jennifer pointed to the left, "the balcony."

He nodded his thanks and turned toward it. The main infirmary ward used to be in an inner room of the tower but when was moved to an outer room with a balcony to help patients speed up their recover time.

Ronon found Micah standing off to the right side staring at the ocean. She was back in her own clothes, her sword gripped loosely in one hand and her holster tied casually about her waist. John would call it 'goodbye' gear.

"You're leaving." He said, stepping outside. It wasn't really a question, more of a resigned affirmation. He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at the ocean instead of her when she answered.

"Have to." She said quietly.

"No you don't," he protested almost immediately, more vehemently than he'd intended, "Sheppard, the others, they like you. You could stay."

Micah swallowed and hesitated, almost tempted by the offer, "no I couldn'. I'm no good with walls. I need the open ai', the wind…a nearby ring so I can haul ass when them damn wraith come." She shook her head, "I wasn't meant for sticking in one place, Dex."

"You could try." He said quietly, knowing his arguments were growing thinner by the second, a little surprised and a little unnerved at how used he'd grown to having her around in such a short time, "You could…" he shrugged, "be…happy here."

She shook her head again, this time smiling sadly, "no, _Bat'hi_. I'm only happy with a sword on me back and wraith blood on these hands," she added darkly, "I _will_ make them pay for what they did to me husban' and boy. I'll make them awl pay."

"They'll kill you." He stated, matter-of-factly.

She smiled again, turning so that the wind whipped her red hair into her face and looked at him for the first time, "I said that to you once when you started huntin' them back, rememba' what you said? 'Maybe. Someday. But not today'."

He sighed deeply, "Everything I ever said?"

She nodded, "and everythang you didn't," she turned back to the ocean, "which reminds me. That lady docta' of yours is pretty."

He shrugged, "yeah."

She didn't look at him. "You 'n hur then?"

"We're not…" Ronon shook his head once, "she's not…"

"Not what? Hm?" she looked at him knowingly, and when he found he couldn't figure out which words he needed to complete his sentence she continued, "everythang you _neva'_ said, rememba' that."

She took his silence as affirmation of what she already suspected, but decided to give him an out. Dropping the subject, somewhat amused at how tense Ronon had gotten, she turned to look at him fully, leaning her hip against the railing of the balcony to take some weight off her side, which was throbbing slightly.

She studied him for a moment, noting with satisfaction that she could still see the minute changes in posture, the slight tightening around his eyes that meant he was uncomfortable and felt sure in her assumption that there were perhaps not even a handful of other people in the galaxy that could read him that way.

"I'm proud of you _Bat'hi_." She said finally. He glanced at her with his eyes, looking for clarification, but did not move his head toward her, "These people…they really care 'bout you. The Ronon Dex I knew wouldn't let himself get close ta anybody."

"Didn't have much choice."

"And you do now," she nodded approvingly, "I think you makin' the right one."

He tightened again uncomfortably but nodded his agreement. This time she had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed for causing his unease and turned back to the ocean.

Ronon sighed. Leaning his arms against the railing, he dropped his chin almost to his chest and said again, "You're leaving."

Micah looked at him for a long moment and nodded, turning her face back up into the wind and facing the sun.

"I am."

SGASGASGASGA

They gathered in the gate room several hours later to say their 'goodbye's. She stood in the middle of the floor, the active gate glowing blue behind her. Ronon and his team along with doctor Keller were all there to see her off.

She smiled the sweet smile they'd all come to recognize and stepped forward, "I thank you for everythang you've done fo' me. If theys anythang you all need, jus' ask."

"How should we contact you?" Teyla asked.

"Don't worry, you jus' start askin', I'll find you," she looked at John, "and I'll see if I can't do something about the ratha' unsavory reputation you seemed to have earned yourselves in some parts of the galaxy," she raised an eyebrow, "sumthin' 'bout wakin' a bunch of sleeping wraith?"

John winced and bit his lip, "yeah…about that…"

She shook her head, waving off any explanation he might have been about to give, "don't pay it any mind. I, for one, am glad. It just don't seem sportin' to go around killin' wraith while they sleepin' all peaceful-like in the ships." She shrugged, her smile a little bit devilish, "not that it woulda stopped me, I jus' might not 'a felt as good 'bout it aftawa'd."

John smiled, shaking his head, "you're a trip Micah." He extended his hand, "it's good to know we've got an ally like you out there."

She took it, "likewise." Then she turned to Ronon, who stood watching her, like he always was, with his arms crossed over his chest stoically. She stepped close enough so that she could speak quietly and still be heard.

"You were such a baby when I found you."

Ronon sighed, in mock exasperation, "I was nineteen and three years older than you."

"Yeah, like I said. A baby…you looked so lost back then," she paused, searching his gren eyes for several moments before continuing quietly, "you don't look lost no mo'. You look found. And I think it's thanks to these 'Lanteans. You take care of them, you hea'?"

He sobered his grin and nodded, glancing at Jennifer on his right, and then at John. He looked back at Micah.

"Count on it."

Micah turned to look at the team once more and started for the puddle.

Jennifer suddenly stepped forward.

"Hey, remember, take it easy for a couple days. I don't want to have to take a field team out on some godforsaken planet a week from now to perform emergency surgery because you just _had_ to attack a wraith compound the second you got out of here." She smiled teasingly and Micah returned it.

"You got no idea what you askin' me, Doc." She nodded, "Don't worry. I will."

"You won't." Ronon countered in almost the exact same moment. Micah rolled her eyes and gave him a 'you're ruining my fun again' look. She dropped the grin when she realized Ronon's teasing was thinly veiling worry.

Her face softened before brightening into an encouraging grin.

"Don't worry _Bat'hi_, I won't be gone foreva'. Our paths will cross again someday, I'm sure of it."

Then she turned and disappeared through he puddle, leaving Ronon feeling just a little bit apprehensive, wondering if that was the first real lie she'd ever told him.

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**I never meant for this to be a long fic...sorry if the fact that this is the last chap blindsides you. I know there's a lot left unsaid, and many details left untold, but I kind of wanted Micah to be mysterious, this sort of dark, largely unknown part of Ronon's past, because that's kind of how he is, you know? Anyway, I hope you like this last chap, and I apologize for the shortness...but there just wasn't anything else to be said.

**Disclaimer**: They're mine in an alternate reality.

**Chapter Five – Our Paths Cross**

_One Year Later_

Trading missions. Ronon hated trading missions. They were boring and usually made him more stir crazy than he had been when they left Atlantis in the first place.

It was on just one such lackluster trading mission that Ronon found himself about a year after Micah left Atlantis. And it was on this particular 'mission' that he procured his most prized knife.

"Dex? Ronon Dex of Sateda?"

Ronon was standing off to the side of one of the trading booths while Teyla negotiated for some fruit the cooks on Atlantis had requested. Both he and John looked over toward the voice.

"Yeah," Ronon said cautiously.

The man addressing him stood about his height but much heavier and grinned an almost toothless grin at him, "wait here, I have somethin'." Then he disappeared inside his tent, quickly returning with a small wooden box. "This is fo' you."

Ronon frowned at it and then at the man, still wondering why this stranger knew his name. "Me?"

"Yes, a friend of mine left it with me a few months ago. She said she was travelin' to a dangerous planet and might not make it back. She tol' me what you looked like, thought I might meet you one day and said to give this to you when I did," the man spoke with the distinctive Fresian accent and an inherent sadness that made Ronon feel both wary and alarmed as he looked back at the box, "she said you would know what it meant when you saw."

The box was low quality, a typical merchants transport box. Ronon lifted the lid and dug through a handful of straw until is hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife. He pulled it out and his breath caught.

It was in good condition and of even better quality. A hand-carved dagger at least six inches long. The handle was made of wraith bone, and had three intricate symbols carved into it.

John moved up beside him, frowning at the look on Ronon's face and peered at the knife, "You recognize it?"

Ronon nodded, "I made it, a long time ago."

"Oh yeah?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows, "what do the signs mean?"

Ronon swallowed before answering, now understanding the trader's sadness.

"Warrior," he brushed his thumb over the top symbol, "guardian," the bottom one, "and this one…literally it would be 'two ways connect'. But on Sateda it was used to mark roadways as 'paths cross'."

He put the box aside and gripped the knife firmly. He looked up at the trader and the man nodded slowly, seeing that Ronon did in fact, know what the knife meant.

"It's Micah," Ronon said finally, his voice deep with a sadness he chose usually not to express, "she's gone."

He looked once more at the man and nodded quickly. The trader smiled bravely, as if he hadn't just had the loss of a dear friend confirmed to him, and picked up his box, clutching it tightly to his chest. Ronon slipped the knife into the pocket of his long jacket and turned, heading off into the crowd, knowing John would radio him when it was time to leave.

In the midst of the crowd's murmured chatter he almost thought he could hear her low, silky voice with that strange Fresian accent in his ear.

_Our paths will cross again someday, Dex. I'm sure of _

_TBC_


End file.
